


Tumblr Ficlets

by RichieBrook



Category: Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Depression, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Tags and tws will be specified before each ficlet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichieBrook/pseuds/RichieBrook
Summary: A collection of ficlets that I posted on Tumblr. Some are fluffy, some are a little dark. I will specify which tags and/or trigger warnings are applicable before each ficlet.
Relationships: Miles Kane/Alex Turner
Comments: 33
Kudos: 36





	1. August 13, 2019 - Death Ramps

**Author's Note:**

> Don't expect too much of these; they're just messy little ficlets that I will never turn into actual fics. I just wanted them to be all in one place. :) Hope you enjoy regardless!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: depression  
> other tag(s): emotional hurt/comfort, D/s

Miles opens the door wearing only his trackie bottoms. “You have a key,” is the first thing he says, and Alex shrugs his shoulders. “Yeh. And you knew I was coming. Weren’t sure if you’d be okay with me bargin’ in on you like that, though.”

“I gave you a key for a reason, Al,” Miles says tiredly. “C’mon, come on in.”

“You look terrible,” Alex says matter-of-factly, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair. “What do you need? I’ll make you a cuppa, how about that?”

And Miles _cackles_. He sounds a bit mad. Alex knows that chuckle, has heard it a few times over the course of their friendship, and it never fails to set him on edge. He looks up, searching Miles gaze with his own and holding it. “Hey,” he says, his voice sharp, his eyes soft. “What happened, Miles, eh? Tell us what happened to ya.”

And Miles just shakes his head. “Nothing happened. I don’t have the words,” he offers unhelpfully, which doesn’t help ease Alex worries. Miles is the articulate one out of the two of them and if he has no words, Alex isn’t sure that there’ll be an easy fix.

“Why’d you call me?” he wants to know, giving a nod in the direction of the kitchen and watching with an uncomfortable feeling in his chest as Miles meekly leads the way. “Sit down, Miles, okay?” he murmurs, gesturing to one of the stools by the kitchen island. “I’ll fix you a cuppa.”

“How about you make me somethin’ a bit stronger, Al, baby?”

“Didn’t think so,” Alex mutters. “Are you on anything? You sound – mad.”

“No,” Miles says. “I – My heart’s right here, Al.” He lays his fingers high on his throat and breathes out a laugh. “Feel it.”

At any other time, Alex would have told him to cut it out, but this time, he approaches Miles and lays a gentle hand against his throat, on the spot where Miles’ fingers were only seconds ago. He squeezes softly. He’s a fraction shorter than Miles is, but the wide-eyed panic is visible on Miles’ face, and it helps him get into the mindset that he knows Miles needs him to be in right now. It’s not often that they do this – and when they do Miles is usually on the dominant side of it – and Alex is surprised by how easily he slips into his role. “You didn’t answer me earlier, over the phone,” he drawls, his fingers caressing either side of Miles’ neck. Miles leans into the touch. “I asked you what you needed and you ignored me question, Miles. Try again, eh? Try again for me, love.”

Miles laughs again, and then Alex squeezes. It’s not enough by far to cut off his air supply, but it’s more than enough to make Miles still and fess up. “Been a bit jittery,” he admits. “Not a bit, Al, baby. A lot jittery. For the past week. Haven’t seen a soul.”

Alex tuts. “Why would you do that to yourself, Miles? What happened to you, sweet’eart?” He barely ever calls Miles anything other than his own name, but seeing him like this, seeing Miles not be Miles for a moment, strings a chord in him, making him want to say the exact things that he knows Miles needs him to say.

And Miles shrugs. “Sometimes you joost can’t, Al, I’m not tellin’ ya anything you don’t know. I’ve seen you. I’ve seen the same thing ‘appen to you. I’ve seen yer eyes glaze over. I’ve seen ya _leave_. I think I’ve been away for a bit meself.”

“Call me sooner next time,” Alex says, careful to keep his voice calm. “No matter where I am. Can’t always be here wif ya, obviously, but we’ve phones, Miles. If you need a pep talk, call me. Whenever.”

“I don’t need a pep talk, Al.” It’s the first time the tone of Miles’ voice comes anywhere close to matching the sharpness in Alex’s.

Alex nods. He pours Miles his tea and hands him the mug. Miles looks nothing like himself as he accepts it. His skin seems almost transparent, his eyebrows a lot darker than they usually are, accentuating the bags under his eyes. “I’m going to try one last time,” he says. “Miles, what do you need, love?”

Miles _trembles_. “Honestly?” he asks. “Just fer you to – ” He makes a vague gesture with his free hand. “Bring me back,” he decides. “Make me stop shakin’. Make me stop finkin’ I’m about to keel over, Alex.”

Something tugs at Alex’s heart at that. He looks at Miles for a few seconds, offering him a small smile. “Finish your tea,” he murmurs. “When you have, go upstairs. I’ll join you there.”

The eagerness with which Miles nods is alarming. He takes his time with the tea, barely taking his eyes off Alex, and Alex hands him a cigarette when he asks for one.

“Tell me your safeword again,” Alex prompts, when Miles gets up to leave the kitchen.

Miles smiles wearily. “It’s Death Ramps,” he says. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Alex says. “Good. Say it and we’ll stop. At any time. Understood?”

“Understood,” Miles says. He disappears upstairs without another word.


	2. September 1st, 2019 - Tour Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: depression  
> other tag(s): emotional hurt/comfort

Alex just played a gig. The gigs are good, and the flashing lights and the muffled encouragement from the audience that slips past his earpiece as they play. Miles is on the phone with Alex now. His voice is gravelly and sounds like home, where it’s most likely raining right now. Is it raining, he asks Miles and Miles says yes, yes, it is.

The gigs are good. The comedown not as much. Miles knows this. He encourages Alex to talk, to ramble, to yell if he needs to, but Alex doesn’t want to talk, never really _chooses_ to ramble, and he doesn’t feel like yelling. He asks Miles to describe to him what he’s wearing. Miles is wearing a loose tank. John and Yoko are on it. In black and white, he adds, because he knows Alex likes little details like that. He’s wearing Fred Perry trackie bottoms and he’s barefoot. Is your hair down, Alex asks. Miles’ hair is down, and Alex can picture him now. And now that he’s sure he’s talking to Miles, he also tells him _you look nice_ and _I miss you_.

He asks Miles to party a little harder on behalf of him. To sing a little louder. To be a bit more sure of himself. On behalf of him. And Miles breathes out a knowing little laugh. I will do all those things, he promises, but you’ve got to promise me, Al, you’ve got to promise me that you’ll sing as loud as you can. I don’t fucking care how sad you are, Al, baby, you’re going to have to _fookin’_ sing. Even when you can’t. And when you can’t get any sound out anymore, when you’re without words, that’s where I’ll take over.

Alex nods and drinks some to ease the turmoil in his head. Miles wants to know where they’re travelling to tomorrow, and Alex tries to make him guess. The truth is that he doesn’t know, which Miles is perfectly aware of. But he plays the game. He always does. He lists the names of cities and venues. Alex thinks it would be better if he’d just recite the dictionary. He curls into himself to fend off the dull sting in his chest that grows more persistent with each place Miles lists.

  
Dublin. Amsterdam. Paris. London.

Berlin. Prague. Rome. Madrid.

The bedsheets in each hotel room are white. The room is quiet. There’s a minibar. And tea. Fluffy towels and a bathrobe.

If it were London Miles, Alex says, you’d know.

I’d know, Miles says. Alex hears the rustling of sheets, which means Miles, too, is in bed. His sheets aren’t white. They’re most likely navy or leopard or burgundy. Alex doesn’t ask which. And then Miles is telling him to go to sleep: go to sleep, baby, he says. His voice sounds like home and it’s raining at home and that’s nice, isn’t it. Alex can almost smell it.


	3. November 16, 2019 - Leopard Print

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: depression  
> other tag(s): emotional hurt/comfort

Alex won’t move. It’s a Saturday morning, rain is battering down onto the windows and the house smells like coffee. Miles is in his element. He pours them both a cup, sings along to an old Maroon 5 song on the radio, and goes back into the living room, where he sets both cups down onto the coffee table. But Alex won’t move. He’s sitting up straight, his back aligned to the backrest, and he’s looking straight ahead. When Miles stops in front of him, those eyes seem to look right through him. Miles frowns. It’s a Saturday morning and the house smells of coffee. Alex shouldn’t be like this.

“Get up,” he says, not leaving much room for arguing. And Alex doesn’t argue. He doesn’t do much else either, except look up at Miles. Miles can see those eyes focus on him, and then Alex is looking at him instead of through him.

“Al. Babe. Get up.”

Alex swallows. Miles can see his Adam’s apple bob up and then down again. “What’s the time?” Alex wants to know, and Miles checks Alex’s phone, which is right by his wrist, on the armrest of his chair.

“It’s half ten. How long have you been ‘ere for?”

Alex shrugs one shoulder, as if shrugging two would cost him too much effort. “A while. I couldn’t just keep lying in bed.”

“And now you’re just sitting in your chair.”

Alex laughs. Miles can see the tears well up in his eyes.

“What are your plans for today then, Miles?” Alex is choosing his words very carefully, no matter how simple the question. He’s speaking more slowly than usually. There’s barely any intonation in his voice and Miles knows Alex is just talking to him to keep him there. He crouches down in front of him and rests his forearms on Alex’s knees. Alex instinctively leans forward a bit. Apart from that quick half-shrug, it’s the most Miles seen him move all morning.

“I was going to do some shoppin’, actually,” he confesses. “You keep borrowing my shirts and now I’m out of clean things to wear.”

“You could just do the laundry,” Alex points out blankly. He leans forward some more and reaches for one of Miles’ underarms, folding his fingers around it in one slow movement. He squeezes, a bit too hard to be comfortable, but Miles lets him.

“You could just do the laundry,” Miles fires back, and he flashes him a smile. He reaches back with the arm that Alex isn’t clutching, and picks up one of the coffee mugs. There’s a Yellow Submarine print on it and it’s his favourite mug. He hands it to Alex. “But maybe save that for tomorrow. You’re busy today.”

“Am I?” Alex accepts the mug and slides his thumb over one of the bright yellow submarines on the china. He lets go of Miles’ arm to roughly wipe at his eyes, then reaches down to grab a hold of it again.

“You are, babe, yes,” Miles murmurs. He watches Alex sip his coffee and folds his hand over the hand that still has his arm in a tight grip. “You’re going to have to go into town with me.”

Alex really does laugh at that and it’s the least pleasant sound Miles has heard all day. It’s loud and empty, and it makes the little hairs on his neck stand up straight. “I’m not going with yeh,” Alex says. He has some more coffee and pulls at Miles’ arm.

“Shame. I was gonna treat you to lunch.”

“How about a pint?”

Miles frowns and reaches out to caress the back of Alex’s hand with his thumb. “No. Lunch. It’s my treat, so I get to decide.”

Alex scoffs. “I’m not interested. And I may not sound like it, but I am sorry. For what it’s worth.”

“You don’t understand, though,” Miles mutters, ignoring his apology. “I know for a fact that you’ll ‘borrow’ everything I buy today sooner rather than later, and I distinctly remember you telling me you’d go mad if you found more leopard print stuff in our ‘ouse. So I’m going to need yer input.”

“So shouldn’t you be buying more of the leopard print stuff?” Alex asks. “If you want to stop me from taking all of it, I mean?”

Miles sighs dramatically. “You know what? You’re absolutely right. I should do that. You’re right, Al; I might be good without your fashion advice after all. Thanks, babe.” He carefully pries Alex’s fingers from his arm and gets up, but as soon as he steps back, Alex scrambles to his feet as well. He’s pale and the leopard print robe he’s wearing seems too big on him, even though he and Miles wear the same size. Miles’ heart dares to make a hopeful little jump anyway.

Alex sets the mug aside and wrings his hands together nervously. “Joost one or two shops, no more than that,” he says. His voice is still lacking any emotion whatsoever, but Miles nods.

“Yeah, babe. One or two, tops. And lunch, after.”

Alex’s eyes are still puffy and Miles’ heart breaks all over again when Alex directs his gaze at him. “But you’ll help, yeah?”

“Yeah Al, I’ll help.”

“Good. Good.” Alex mutters. He’s still looking at Miles, but Miles knows he’s talking to himself - convincing himself.

“So,” says Miles. “Let’s take a shower first. I need one as well, so we might as well take one together.” He reaches for Alex’s shoulder, but Alex catapults himself at him simultaneously , and before Miles realises what’s happening, Alex is a dead weight sobbing into his shoulder. Miles freezes. He’s not seen Alex cry in a very long time and for a moment he isn’t sure where to put his hands or how to make it stop. He puts one arm around Alex’s waist and squeezes his hip. It can’t be comfortable, but Alex only holds onto him tighter and cries soundlessly into his shoulder. “Shh,” Miles whispers. “Baby, you’re alright. You’re okay.”

Except Alex isn’t okay, and Miles catches himself feeling relief as those tears keep flowing. And so he stops trying to make it stop. He lets Alex sob into his shirt. He lets him squeeze his waist and upper arm in a death grip. He threads gentle fingers through greasy hair and uses his other hand on Alex’s lower back to press Alex flush to him. Alex is trembling, and the closer Miles holds him the louder, the more heart-wrenching his sobs get. Miles kisses his head and rubs his back. He squeezes his own eyes shut tightly and waits.

And then, after what feels like forever, Alex goes quiet. Miles can still feel his heart beat rapidly, but his arms and hands slowly relax, relieving their grip on Miles. He rests his cheek against Miles’ shoulder and caresses the spot on his upper arm that Miles is fairly sure will turn into a bruise. Miles doesn’t do anything just yet. He knows he doesn’t have to.

And he doesn’t. It’s Alex who speaks up, first. “So,” he mutters. He brushes his fingers over Miles’ shoulder and the soaked material of his T-shirt. “I’m guessing you don’t need that shower anymore. Sorry.” His voice is rough and his accent thick, and Miles lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“And miss out on the chance to see you naked?” he asks. “I didn’t think so.”

Alex murmurs something about Miles getting to see him naked at any chance he gets, but he doesn’t protest when Miles starts leading him to the bathroom. As Miles peels off the robe and the trackie bottoms Alex is wearing under it, Alex rubs his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. “I’m exhausted,” he complains, and Miles smiles a little. “Nice try. You’re still going shopping with me.”

Alex laughs quietly. “I know,” he murmurs. “You’d be lost if I didn’t. It’s not like I’ve an actual choice in the matter, is it.”

Miles smiles at him. “You really don’t,” he says, leaning forward to press his lips to Alex’s cheek. “So let’s get ready, shall we? We can’t stand here all day; we’ve places to be, leopard print shirts to buy.”

As he steps into the shower, he catches Alex snickering and shaking his head, and then Alex is climbing in after him and wrapping his arms around Miles’ waist again. Miles nods to him in encouragement even though he isn’t sure why, and turns on the shower. Alex gives him a determined little nod in return and closes his eyes, seemingly contented for now to just let the hot water wash over him. Miles kisses him again for that. He knows it’s going to be a long day, but so far, so good.


	4. December 19, 2019 - Impressive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: depression  
> other tag(s): emotional hurt/comfort

Miles’ legs feel thinner even though they’re not. They feel like twigs about to give each time he puts his weight on them. It’s the only thing he pays attention to as he walks. His pyjama shirt hangs loosely around his shoulders and is invisible under his thick coat. It’s his secret. Like all the movie marathons and the tens of hours of sleep and the way the music he sometimes puts his head right up against the speakers of his sound system when he plays a record. It never seems to be loud enough.

The jeans he’s wearing ride low on his hips. They’re not his. He picked them up off a pile of clothes on the bedroom floor this morning and they just so happened to be Alex’s. He couldn’t be arsed to change. Alex chuckled when he came downstairs. Wear a belt if yer gonna do that, he’d said. Piss off, Miles had said. He’s been telling Alex to piss off a lot. He’s still here, though. He’s still here right in this moment, walking next to Miles. He won’t touch him because Miles won’t let him, but he’s still here.

Just like Miles is still here. Walking. He doesn’t know what he’d be doing if he weren’t walking right now. He’s pretty sure he’s seen about every documentary available on Netflix.

Alex grabs his hand. Yer doing it again, he says. Don’t get lost. Eyes on the road, baby.

Miles doesn’t look at the road. He halts, his knees ready to buckle. Tell me again when we’re doing the third Puppets record, he demands.

Alex breathes out audibly. In two years, he says, like he’s told Miles at least five times over the past couple of days. Next year will be your year, and the year after will be ours.

That’s two records in the next two years, concludes Miles, as he’s done at last five times over the past couple of days. He squeezes Alex’s hand and Alex squeezes back. Two records, he parrots. That’s fookin’ impressive Miles, baby. I’m excited for yeh.

Miles nods once. His legs are okay with him moving now. Alex has to slow his pace, but they’re moving again. That’s what matters.


	5. January 5, 2020 - Sweet Alex,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: depression, mentions of suicidal thoughts

Sweet Alex,

You’ll be okay, you know?

This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write, and I think it’s okay for me to tell you that. It’s not hard because out of the two of us, you’re the writer, nor is it hard because I don’t have anything to say. I’ve so much to say.

You’ll be okay.

You’re probably sick of hearing that but if you’d let me text you or call you or hug you right now that’s what I’d tell you, that’s what I’d keep telling you, over and fucking over again. I realise you’re not okay and I know you haven’t been okay for a while now.

I know you’re having trouble convincing yourself to stay.

But you _have_ to stay, baby, alright? You have to stay because I’m taking you to see Paris in August. I know you’ve been but you haven’t been to Paris with me. You haven’t let me show you the way. You’ve never let me show you that there isn’t one. We’ll walk around for hours doing absolutely nothing and less, and we’ll drink the driest, crispest white wine in all of France on a terrace at night, when the city is at its most beautiful. After we wake up the next day I might even convince you to wear a vest and shorts - no, I will convince you, because you’ve never been able to resist me - and you’ll feel the hot summer sun on your skin when we venture outside. You’ll complain to me about it, so we’ll walk to a park and we’ll sit in the grass, hiding in the shade of a large tree. I’m not a poet, but I don’t think I need to be. I sometimes think that in your personal life you should try be less of one, too. We’ll just sit, soak up the sun and drink ice cold water.

I know you’ll want a kiss while we’re busy being carefree in Paris. I’ve never been with anyone who’s as into kissing as you are. I fucking love you. You’ll get all the kisses you want and more.

Fucking hell, Al. I’ve always known you’re not very attached to life but I never thought I’d have to give you reasons to stay.

Lucky for you I’ve plenty of those.

We’ll write our third album in 2021. I’ll want some disco influences in there so you’d better still be here by then to stop me. Can you imagine? Would you let me wear glitter jumpsuits with flared legs? I bet you’d let me. You love me too much. ;)

We’ll travel the world together in 2022, just like old times. Think of all the times we’ll get to play our songs live, think of dancing and laughing and not caring whether or not that note you hit was the right one, as it was the note you felt like singing that night. Think of all those times we’ll share hotel beds if that helps (more kisses). I bet you’ll steal all my Fred Perry stuff again. Alex, who’s going to steal my Fred Perry stuff if not you?

I’ll kill you if you miss out on all that, Aly, seriously I will.

I can’t give you goals or aspirations. I can’t promise you it’ll be easy to soldier on because I’ve seen you and I know perfectly well that it won’t be easy.

But I can give you a place to belong. I can help you feel sometimes, even if it’s just by touching you. I can give you support when it isn’t easy. That’s what I’m here for, just like you’ve been there for me countless times in the past.

I’m not very good at this, but you know what? I think it’s good that I’m not. I’m not trying to save you. I’m not trying to write an emotional masterpiece. All I’m doing is picture what the future will bring. And I don’t think it’s such a terrible picture, Alexander. Do you?

Call me when you read this. Text me if you can’t speak. Please stay in touch. I’ll be back in London as of tomorrow morning, okay? I’ll come to yours right away. You can stay at mine if you’d like to. I’d love to have you over. Think movie marathons and music (I’ll let you pick what we’ll listen to, just this once). Think late night walks and pub nights. I’ll even shut up every once in a while so you can read a book, or five. Just every once in a while, though.

Don’t you fucking leave me. Don’t you dare. You can do the work. You can do the work, Alex. And I’m going to be right here when you’re ready. Call me asap. I’ve plenty more reasons where those came from. I love you.

x M


	6. August 17, 2020 - Wait it out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: depression  
> other tags: emotional hurt/comfort

“Hey, come on, babe. Look at me.” Miles brushes long strands of brown hair away from Alex’s face. Alex’s dark eyes become visible. They’re a darker brown than Miles remembers from only minutes ago, as if he’s attempted to match them to the darkening sky. It’s not raining. It hasn’t rained all week and the bedsheets, wrapped around their naked thighs, are clammy and damp. Miles opened the windows before joining Alex in bed, but it hasn’t made the smallest difference. “Al,” Miles whispers, as if he’d scare him out of their bed by simply raising his voice. Alex blinks. Miles knows he’s not about to say anything; it’s one of those days where he hasn’t the words. That’s okay, though. He reaches out and cups Alex’s chin; strokes his lips with his thumb. Alex stares at him with big, black eyes. There’s more silence. And then Alex moves. He wraps a strong hand around each of Miles’s wrists and holds on tightly. He looks down and his gaze settles on his hands instead. Miles lets him.

A sudden clap of thunder. Alex inhales audibly. A bolt of lightning reflects in dark eyes. And then there it is: rain starts pouring down as if that one announcement was all it had been waiting for. There’s no time to close the windows, but Miles isn’t sure he really wants to, anyway. The bedroom smells like rain. Alex breathes in, and out. As he closes his eyes, Miles is able to carefully free his wrists from Alex’s loosening grip. He winds both arms tightly around Alex instead. Alex curls up against him

and then there’s nothing left to do but to simply wait it out.


	7. November 8, 2020 - Tranquility Base

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: ALL THE FLUFF, HAPPY

The sounds of the movie he’s supposed to be watching have reduced to a warm murmur in Alex’s ear. Miles cards gentle fingers through his hair and tugs softly each time his hand reaches the ends of Alex’s long strands. Alex yawns into Miles’s lap. He’s pretty damn sure that this wasn’t what Miles was hoping for on Alex’s first day back from tour (it’s not exactly what Alex was hoping for either), but they’ll get to all that good stuff later - when Alex can keep his eyes open long enough to appreciate the sight of Miles hovering above him, his chest and cheeks flushed and his eyes dark and shiny with lust. The mental image makes something stir in the pit of Alex’s stomach, but he doesn’t act on it. Not just yet. “Miles,” he murmurs, his voice croaky with disuse.

“Right here, baby,” Miles chuckles. “What’s on your mind?”

“Honestly?” Alex hides his face in the comforting darkness of Miles’s lap. “Not much reyt now. It’s joost - quiet. I think me head’s asleep.”

Miles laughs again. It’s a gentle rumble rather than the trademark cackle he so often uses. Alex likes both, but there’s a time and place for each. This particular gentle laugh tells him that he can take all the time he wants, which he’s very much planning on doing.

“Why don’t ya let the rest of your body get some sleep as well?” Miles proposes. “Jetlag got ya good this time, Al.”

“Hmm.” Miles’s sweatpants smell like washing powder and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke. Alex presses his nose into the soft material.

Miles’s grip on his hair tightens ever so slightly. “Are you okay?”

Sometimes Alex forgets that even to Miles he can be hard to read. It doesn’t happen often, but every once in a while, even Miles needs some clarification. “More than okay,” he assures him. “I’m comfortable is all. Hush now. Watch the film.”

“Yes, Al,” Miles laughs. He presses his lips to the top of Alex’s head and reaches for the duvet, covering up Alex’s naked shoulders. While his arm stays firmly around those shoulders, he starts carding his fingers through Alex’s hair again. “Welcome home, babe.”


	8. November 17, 2020 - Just This Once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag(s): Hurt/comfort

“At least drink summat.” Alex’s brow is creased in a deep frown, the one he also uses when he’s not satisfied with his own writing. It makes Miles painfully self-aware, and so he shakes his head.

“I’m good,” he says. “You just go back home, yeah? I’ll be fine here. Got me bed and the telly, don’t I?”

Alex hesitates in the doorway. “I’ll make you a cuppa,” he then says, and disappears around the corner. 

Miles lets out a breath and sinks back into the pillows. Alex wasn’t supposed to show up unannounced. If he’d simply shot Miles a quick text like he usually does, everything would have been fine. Miles would have been excited and _loud_ and ready. But he isn’t ready now.

Alex pads back into the room, two steaming cups of tea in his hands. “Alreyt then,” he mutters, balancing the mugs on the mess of magazines and candy wrappers on Miles’s nightstand. “Scoot over.”

Miles scoots over and Alex climbs into bed next to him. “There you go,” he says, handing Miles his favourite Yellow Submarine mug. “Drink that. Ye’ll feel better.”

“You’re not supposed to be here. We’re still in lockdown.” Miles sips his drink. It’s easier like this, with Alex telling him what to do.

Alex shrugs his shoulders. “Louise and I have spent the past week and a half at our place. Alone. I think it’s safe to say I’m healthy. We even got our food delivered like proper lazy rockstars, eh? Because I knew you’d be telling me exactly what yer telling me now.”

“I’m not talking about you.” Miles sets his tea aside. It tastes like nothing. “I went out. Two nights ago. I thought I were going mad so I went over to Jay’s.”

“You saw a friend.” Alex shrugs his shoulder. He drinks his tea and stretches his legs out in front of him. “As long as you had a good time, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“It’s not fuckin’ fine, Al. I could make ye sick.”

Alex arches an eyebrow. “You don’t sound very ill. We’ll be okay. We just ‘ave to work out the logistics.”

Miles can’t look at him. He feels caught. Alex wasn’t supposed to walk in on the mess that he’s made of his apartment; he wasn’t supposed to see the piles of laundry on the bathroom floor, the takeout boxes in the living room, the pigsty that is his bedroom. Smells like one too, probably. “What logistics?” he snaps.

“The logistics of me staying ‘ere,” Alex explains patiently, as if he were talking to a child. Miles huffs. “I mean, I’m going to a need a place to write and what with you working on yer own music, I’m guessing that I can’t use your study.”

“Study’s free,” Miles says. “Album’s done. You _know_ that.”

“All mine, then.” Alex smiles triumphantly. “That’s great. I like the vibe of yer place. It’ll be perfect for writing.”

It’s only then that Miles realises what Alex is saying. He looks up and narrows his eyes. He should be grateful, but there’ll probably be none of that until tomorrow, when he feels a little less humiliated by Alex’s surprise visit. “I’m fine, Alex,” he says flatly. “I live alone. It’s what I do. I’m good at it. I _enjoy_ it.”

“I know you do.” Alex sets his own mug aside and pulls the pizza stained duvet up to his shoulders. Miles wishes the floor would swallow him up right then and there. “Joost like I enjoy writing, but if I had to do that 24/7 for months on end, they’d have to put me away in a mental ‘ospital.”

Miles stares at him. “You’re not makin’ any sense.”

“I never do.” Alex chuckles. “But people listen to me words sometimes, regardless. They even buy them sometimes. I’m not sure why that is, but I’m thinking that just this once, per’aps you should do the same. Just this once, eh?”

Miles laughs softly. He can’t help himself. “And what are those words, exactly?” he ventures. Alex has already won and he knows it. No need to draw it out.

“Well.” Alex arches his eyebrows and slides over to Miles, making sure their shoulders touch. “Take a break. Make yer bed. Go outside with me. And let me look after ye for a week. Or two.”

Miles chuckles. “Really, that’s it? Nothing profound about moon hotels and monster trucks? I’m severely disappointed,” he murmurs, hiding his smile in Alex’s shoulder. 

And Alex laughs, too. “No moon hotels, I’m afraid. We’ll be staying at home just like everyone else.”

But Miles finds that maybe he doesn’t mind so much. He doesn’t drink his tea and he sure as hell won’t be thanking Alex anytime soon, but Alex’s shoulder is a hell of a lot more comfortable than his pillow, so perhaps he’ll allow it. Just this once.


	9. November 22, 2020 - The Meeting Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tag(s): Fluff

Miles only has to ring the doorbell once. The door opens almost right away.

“ _Miles_ ,” says Alex. His eyes are big. He probably hadn’t expected Miles to stop by. Miles can’t exactly blame him. They’re in lockdown again. He’s not _supposed_ to stop by. “Miles,” Alex repeats. He steps aside. “D’you wanna come in? It’s early. I were joost makin’ coffee. It’s probably not as strong as you like it, but - ”

Miles shakes his head. “No. Best not, eh? Better safe than sorry.” He might as well have said yes, though; he steps forward, well within two feet of Alex. “I got you a little somethin’. Louise tells me you’ve ‘ad some trouble writin’ and - well. I felt bad. I know how ye get, don’t I.” He rifles through the inside pocket of his coat and produces a small package, wrapped in brown paper. “Got you a little something. To help with the writer’s block.”

Alex laughs, frowns and shakes his head at the same time. He does accept the gift. That’s a good sign at least. Miles smiles at him. “Go on.”

“Why would you get me anyfin’?” Alex tugs at the tape with careful fingers, as if he’s nervous to do it wrong. “It’s not me birthday. We’re still a month away from Christmas, too.”

Miles shrugs his shoulder. “Figured you could use it. I’ll get you somethin’ much more ridiculously extravagant for Christmas, don’t you worry.”

Alex has finally succeeded undoing the gift from its wrapping paper. His gaze flits up to meet Miles’s.

“That’s not just any notebook,” Miles says quickly, jumping to answer Alex’s question before he can even formulate it. They both stare at the small, leather bound notebook that Alex is now holding in both hands. “It’s - I got it years ago. For meself. Before I figured out I preferred me iPad.” He laughs awkwardly. He wasn’t sure how he imagined this, but he sure as hell hadn’t realised that he’d be struggling to find the right words. “Open it,” he urges. “You wanna open it before I explain.”

And Alex does. He tears his gaze away from Miles and looks down as he opens the little book on the first page. He’s met with familiar words. Words that he’s seen and sung a hundred times before, in Miles’s familiar unintelligible scrawl. He looks up at Miles and arches an eyebrow, silently asking.

“They’re, um.” It suddenly seems silly. “It’s me first draft of ‘The Meeting Place’.” Miles stares at Alex’s hands; watches the thumbs hooked around the pages whiten as they exert more pressure on the paper. “It brought me luck. Figured it might do the same for you.”

Alex presses his lips tightly together. He leafs through the otherwise empty notebook and then shuts it, wrapping all ten fingers tightly around it. He looks tired. Miles isn’t surprised. “That’s me lesson for ya right there, Al. Don’t overthink it. That’s when you’re at your best, babe.”

Alex blushes. Miles can’t help but smile. Calling Alex any pet name means a hundred percent guarantee to see him blush. He likes that blush. Bloody adores it, he does.

“I’ll keep this close,” Alex promises him, and tucks the little book safely into his chest pocket. He pats it absent-mindedly with one hand. “You sure you don’t wanna come in?” he presses, reaching out and snaking his fingers around Miles’s wrist. “I told yeh; there’s coffee.”

But Miles shakes his head. “Not today, darlin’. Some time soon, though, eh? Gotta keep the romance alive. Even during desperate times.”

“A hotel room?” Alex looks hopeful. Miles wants to snog him right then and there, outside, for everyone to see. Instead, he nods and smiles, before leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to Alex’s cheekbone.

“A hotel room,” he promises. “In a week or two. Just you and me. But until then, I expect you to clear yer ‘ead and simply write what comes to you. Whatever it is.”

“Whatever it is,” Alex replies, and nods a little too eagerly. Miles notices. His lips land on Alex’s cheekbone once more.

“Good,” he says. “In a week or two, then. I’ll text you the details. Can’t wait to read what ye’ve come up with, love.” And with that, he gives Alex one last nod and a smile, and turns on his heel. Alex breathes out a shaky laugh behind him. “Thanks, Miles,” he calls after him.

And Miles cackles. “Just write, babe. I’ll see ya soon.”


End file.
